


Imprisoned

by glyphsbowtie



Series: Caged [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-20 06:11:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1499645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glyphsbowtie/pseuds/glyphsbowtie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal needs Will to decide to be with him without any manipulation, but it proves too hard to resist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is the sequel to Caged, so you probably want to read that first. We've diverted from the canon slightly. As last time, I'm doing this without a beta reader so there may be a few mistakes. Thank you for reading :)

In the dream, Will was standing naked in the river, up to his waist. The water was cool, but not unpleasant. The sky was clear and beautiful.

 

“Will, are you in there?” Jack's voice jolted him back to reality.

 

He was sitting in front of the last slide of his presentation, still absent-mindedly chewing on the pen he had been gnawing on when the class had left. He blinked at Jack from behind his glasses, forced a smile.

 

“Sorry, Jack. What is it?”

 

“There's a crime scene I need you to look at. We think it might be the Ripper.”

 

_It isn't. It isn't because he's not in town. He's not in town because I slept with him._ Will shook his head, trying to push away the memories of hot skin brushing against his own. “I can't. Not until the doctor says my brain's fixed.”

 

“It was never 'fixed' in the first place,” Jack replied, with obvious impatience.

 

“As it happens, I agree with you. However, Alana was very insistent that I have to avoid crime scenes while I'm staying with her. She thinks I need the break.”

 

“Hannibal's out of town. I don't have anyone else to call.”

 

Will smiled bleakly. “I'm afraid I can't help. Alana, Hannibal and yourself are pretty much the only people I ever speak to.”

 

When Jack left, Will considered returning to his daydream. It had been the first time in five days he had felt relaxed. His ankle itched constantly beneath the cast. He hated having to go everywhere in this stupid wheelchair.

 

And he was missing Hannibal.

 

It was like a limb had been removed. Even ignoring the vivid and unusual events of the start of the week, Hannibal had become a key fixture in Will's life. He was so used to wandering over there whenever he fancied, really, spilling his worries and being soothed by the older man.

 

What would have happened if Will had just leaned over and kissed Hannibal during one of their sessions? Was it so wrong that he wished he didn't know the truth about Hannibal?

 

The truth that he was a murderer. A cannibal. A monster.

 

Little memories had started coming back during the past few days, things that now made a lot more sense. Some of the comments Hannibal had made over meals. A certain look he sometimes got in his eye.

 

The Ripper and the Copycat were the same killer. And that killer was Hannibal.

 

The scope of it was overwhelming.

 

Alana came to collect him at five, smiling warmly when she saw him. He forced himself to return that smile, to show his gratitude to her. He wasn't sure where he would be without her.

 

In the car, she made bright conversation. Everything about Alana was bright; she was positive, and clever, and sweet. She was honest and giving. Her personality sometimes straddled the darkness, but she was as close to a good person as Will knew.

 

None of this explained why he didn't want her.

 

He had been seduced by darkness, and he knew deep down that he couldn't return to the light.

 

He wanted to. Hannibal had said that he wanted Will to have the choice, but there was no way he could give the choice back to Will now. Not really. Will didn't want to have feelings for a manipulative cannibal, but there was no way to get rid of them. Something was wrong with Will, something which allowed him to feel this way about somebody so evil.

 

And as much as he knew that Hannibal had a good side, he was very aware that the majority of him was evil. It had to be.

 

Alana made coffee when they returned, and they sat opposite each other in a neat dining room, eating reheated Chinese takeaway.

 

“None of us eats well when Hannibal is away,” she said, with a smile.

 

Will choked slightly on the piece of chicken he was chewing.

 

“Will, what happened between you two?” Suddenly, she was leaning towards him, eyes wide, face open. An expression that was intended to reassure him she could be trusted.

 

“Nothing.” The lie came more easily than he expected it to, accompanied by a bright smile, the brightest of the day so far.

 

She leaned back, clearly unconvinced, but she let the topic drop.

 

It was raining outside, and the air smelled brilliantly fresh when Will let the dogs out later. He sat watching them, and let his mind wander.

 

He was back in the water. He was laughing, feeling happy, feeling relaxed. The sky darkened suddenly, turning to the same bloody orange as it had been when Hannibal had come to him in bed. He suddenly felt unsettled, like he should get out of the water.

 

A hand knotted in his hair suddenly, and a strong arm wrapped around his torso, tugging him into firm body. Hannibal's face appeared beside his, but it was black and feathered. He grazed Will's ear with his mouth.

 

Will blinked, and he was sat in his wheelchair watching the dogs. He felt strangely warm, and aroused, and unsettled.

 

Hannibal was coming home.


	2. Part 2

Hannibal wanted Will to choose, and that astounded him.

 

He enjoyed his games, enjoyed manipulating people. Will had been one of the greatest games. The idea of manipulating Will into having feelings for him was beyond tempting. However, the idea of Will choosing to have feelings for him was even better.

 

Will had a dark side, but he was good- a lot better than he gave himself credit for. He muddled through life trying to do the right thing. The thought of someone like that coming to him anyway, choosing to be loved by a monster, was delicious, and more interesting than he could have imagined.

 

Six days after the last time he had seen Will, he walked into Will's classroom. He had his hands tucked into his pockets, a calculated display of relaxation. He paused when he saw Will. He was alone in the room, working on some papers at his desk. He was still in the wheelchair.

 

He didn't notice Hannibal straight away. He was chewing the end of a pen, one hand raking through his hair. His eyes were intense, his brow creased slightly. From the outside, it was virtually impossible to tell that anything had changed in Will at all.

 

Hannibal was reminded very much of the other reason why he had left, the reason that was a lot more than wanting Will to make a choice because it would be amusing.

 

He sensed Hannibal's eyes on him, and looked up. He didn't seem surprised. Calmly, he placed the pen down and leaned back in the chair, facing Hannibal with an unwavering stare.

 

Hannibal was pleased. He would enjoy the challenge of breaking Will down again.

 

“How many?” Will asked.

 

“I beg your pardon?” He knew what Will was getting at, of course, but he wanted to make him say it.

 

Will didn't even fake a smile. “How many did you kill while you were gone?”

 

“Does it matter? Wouldn't you rather not know?” He could tell from the twist of Will's mouth at that comment that it was a particularly sore spot for the boy. Good.

 

“I need to know.” Will's eyes closed briefly.

 

The two men faced each other.

 

Hannibal thought of his trip away. He had tried, several times, to stir up his desire to kill. It hadn't happened because he couldn't focus properly, and not focusing meant that mistakes would happen. He didn't make mistakes, so he had returned home no less innocent than he had left it.

 

“Would you believe me if I said I had killed nobody?”

 

“No.”

 

He forced a smile. He deserved that. “Then you have made your mind up without my input.”

 

“You keep saying that you want me to make my mind up. You gave me no choice when you called Alana and gave me to her.”

 

“I don't recall you putting up much of a fight.”

 

There was actual anger in Will's words. It tasted so sweet to Hannibal. “There wasn't an awful lot I could do without getting you into quite a lot of trouble.”

 

“And you don't want that.”

 

“I should want that.”

 

Hannibal's smile was genuine. “I have missed you a great deal.”

 

Will didn't respond. Hannibal usually found him easy to read, but it was as though Will had drawn down a shutter, sealing himself away. That was upsetting. Hannibal had revealed himself to Will more completely than he had to anyone. Will was retreating back inside his shell.

 

Hannibal thought back to him sitting on his bed, crying, no longer a person but a creature ruined by his behaviour, and he considered the notion that Will's anger was justified.

 

“Have dinner with me tonight,” he offered.

 

“Aren't you going to ask if I've made my decision?”

 

“No. I can see that you are still considering your position on the matter.” Hannibal turned to leave. He was afraid that if he didn't, he would grab Will and either kiss him or choke him until he agreed to be his. “I shall expect you at eight. Please do invite Alana.”

 

That hadn't gone quite as he had expected. The Will he had taken in his bed had been eager and willing. The memories of those perfect minutes were a stark contrast to the almost clinical, cold man who had faced him in that classroom.

 

He quite liked not knowing how this would play out, if he was honest. He trusted that Will would not betray his secret, so he could allow him to make his decision for as long as he pleased.

 

In theory.

 

It was hard to admit, but Hannibal was disappointed that Will hadn't been soft and pliant and eager again.

 

Back home, he opened the curtains to allow the dim grey light to illuminate the rooms. He looked at the bed where he had been with Will, and resisted the urge to lie down in the sheets. Really, he was becoming unacceptably sentimental.

 

His emotions were still unusually erratic when he answered the door just before eight. Alana looked beautiful, and she gave Hannibal a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek, which he returned. He made a great show of clapping Will in a friendly manner on the shoulder.

 

Will swallowed visibly at the contact.

 

In the dining room, they sipped on beer, in accordance with Alana's preferences.

 

“I must apologise again for having to rush out of town. I had urgent business. Will and I are lucky that you were available to look after him.”

 

Alana smiled again. “Nonsense. Will's an excellent guest.”

 

“She was looking after my dogs anyway. I'm just one more stray.”

 

Hannibal brought them elaborately prepared plates of food. He was delighted with the vaguely disbelieving expression on Will's face when he saw the explosion of green and purple before him.

 

“A salad? Hannibal, this is very unlike you,” Alana said. “We normally consider you the most passionate carnivore we know.”

 

“He considers himself in the same way,” Will offered, still staring at the leaves, staring the words from Hannibal's own mouth before he could say them.

 

Alana took a large mouthful. “This is delicious.”

 

Will helped Hannibal carry the plates into the kitchen after dinner. Hannibal took them from him gently, placing them in the sink to deal with after dessert. He was very aware of Will's eyes staring at him.

 

“Why have you suddenly grown a conscience?” Will hissed.

 

Hannibal couldn't resist leaning down to speak the words against Will's ear, delighting in the scent of him. “Please do not mistake what I have 'suddenly grown' for a conscience, Will. I assure you it is not.”

 

“I don't understand you,” Will said quietly, surprising them both by taking Hannibal's chin firmly in his hand and forcing him to make eye contact. “You rejected me- you made me think you didn't want me. Now you're serving salads and acting really politely and- and normally-”

 

“I could have you so easily if I wanted to take you.” Hannibal could see the arousal that sparked within Will at the words. “Not just physically. I could have every aspect of you. I am trying to resist the temptation and give you a choice because, as we previously discussed, you are important to me.” He took Will's earlobe in his teeth and tugged it, just hard enough to hurt, hard enough to make Will hiss. “But please be aware that it is a temptation, Will, and one that I cannot guarantee I will not give into.”

 

Hannibal wanted to kiss Will's face then; his expression was a beautiful mixture of fear, arousal and annoyance. However, he forced himself to move away and serve the final course.

 

He made an effort during dessert to be as charming as possible to Alana. Although she still sometimes glanced wistfully at Will when he wasn't looking, he was quite sure that she had decided to release the possibility of a relationship between them.

 

She went to the bathroom before they left, and Hannibal found himself alone at the dining table with Will.

 

“I know you didn't kill anyone while you were away.”

 

Hannibal raised an eyebrow at Will's sudden comment, but Will just shrugged. He reached across and took Hannibal's hand.

 

“It would be easier if I knew you would never do it again.”

 

“I will do it again.”

 

“You don't feel any guilt at all.” Will's eyes were closed. He was trying to empathise with Hannibal, trying to understand his motives.

 

“You know me better than anyone, Will. You need to make your decision based on all the facts.” Hannibal squeezed his fingers, and he wasn't sure if he intended the gesture to be comforting or not. “How does that make you feel?”

 

Will's eyes blazed at him. “Not as conflicted as it should.”

 

Hannibal hadn't planned it, but somehow they were leaning across the table, kissing. Will's hands tangled in Hannibal's hair in a way that was delightfully painful; his lips were fierce and Hannibal could taste Will's anger and despair.

 

“You amaze me,” Hannibal said honestly, murmuring the words as they drew apart at the sound of Alana's heels.

 

Her smile was lovely and oblivious. “We should be going,” she said. “Thank you so much for dinner.”

 

“Yes, thanks.” Will gave him a shaky smile. “I'm glad you're home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back at work tomorrow and it’s exam season (I have the dubious honour of being a teacher) so updates may slow down slightly, although I will do my best. Thanks for the support with this- I’m clearly out of practice when it comes to this sort of thing and the support is really lovely!


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry! I did intend to update during the week but I’ve had such a busy one. It is now 5pm in England and I am settling down at my laptop with a whole carton of chocolate milk and every intention of writing all Saturday night. Rock n roll! Anyway, I will update tomorrow :)

It was the sort of rainy day where the whole world looked grey. Will liked days like this; he felt a sort of contentment that he could barely explain.

The trip from the police car which had dropped him off to the crime scene soaked him through; the flesh on his fingers was numb and he could feel a chilly ache in his bones.

"How's your ankle?" Beverly asked. She was standing beneath a black umbrella, which she angled to cover Will without comment.

Will considered. His ankle was painful, but in a few short days he had become used to it, a constant dull ache which lingered at the back of his mind. It was never entirely possible to forget about the pain, rather like the person who had inflicted it.

“Better, thank you,” was what he said.

“And the brain?” It was one of the things he liked about Beverly, that she didn't phrase things delicately.

“It's encephalitis. I'm taking antibiotics. They're making me feel sick, but I feel better.”

She smiled. “Good.”

“What are we dealing with here?”

Beverly looked at the white plastic tent they had erected a few metres away. Her face was serious. “Jack is worried that it's the Ripper.”

Will shivered. The killing from earlier in the week when Hannibal was out of town couldn't be the Ripper, but there was no real reason why this one couldn't be him. No real reason, in fact, other than Will.

Will remembered the conversation they had had two nights ago, when Will had held Hannibal's hand and asked him not to kill again. Deep down, he had known that Hannibal could promise no such thing.

He exhaled irritably before turning back to Beverly. “Let's take a look, then.”

Beverly pushed his wheelchair through the thick mud without being asked to. Inside the tent, the first thing Will noticed wasn't the victim. It was Hannibal.

He was dressed in his black overcoat, his hair dry and unaffected by the horrible weather. He was talking quietly to Jack, but his eyes met Will's as soon as he entered. He murmured something to Jack and the pair of them approached Will.

“How did you persuade Alana to allow you to attend a crime scene?” Hannibal asked, his tone light.

“I haven't told her.” Will shrugged. He couldn't _not_ attend this crime scene. Now that Hannibal was back in town, Will felt a sick worry that the murderer was his lover, and he had to know.

“Well, I'm glad you came,” Jack said, his eyes on the victim, not on Will.

Will stared at Hannibal, hoping he could ask the question with his eyes. Hannibal raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

The victim was a woman, late thirties. She was strung up between two trees, her torso slashed so that her organs had fallen out; an obscene explosion of browns and greys.

“Are any of the organs missing?” Will asked. He realised after he said it that he had asked Hannibal the question.

Brian Zeller replied. He was kneeling at the feet of the victim, collecting samples. “It looks like everything is here and accounted for.”

“Then it isn't the Chesapeake Ripper.” Will tried not to sound too relieved.

“No, it would appear not,” Hannibal said, his tones cold and clipped.

“I need to be alone to interpret the evidence,” Will said.

“Everybody out!” Jack ordered.

In the cold silence of the crime scene, Will took a deep breath and tried to focus. For the first few seconds, all he could feel was relief that Hannibal wasn't responsible. He closed his eyes and pushed those thoughts away.

He looked at the body. Bruises on her shoulders and throat. Blood caked beneath her fingernails. That rough, crude opening on her stomach.

_I am confused. I know what I want to do but I am not sure why. I take her and it is inelegant. She knows me; she fights against me. I kill her by strangling her. I am angry at her and it is easy. The mutilation comes afterwards. I don't properly understand why I am doing it and I don't know how. It doesn't look right. It isn't me._

Jack was standing behind him when he came back to the present.

“He knew her,” Will said. “Who is she?”

“She's Doctor Amelia Cross. She's a psychiatrist.” Jack was cold and efficient. “That murder two days ago was a psychiatrist, too. It looks like we have a pattern.”

“He didn't understand why he was doing it. He's damaged. I think someone might have influenced him.”

Jack frowned. “We need to find out if they had any patients in common.”

It was Hannibal who wheeled Will back down to the cars. He was silent. Will wondered what was going through his head.

“Would you like to have lunch with me?” Hannibal asked.

“I'd love to.”

Hannibal placed Will in his car gently. Will ached from his touch but said nothing, unable to read his mood.

“I'm glad to see you are looking better,” Hannibal said over the hum of the engine. His voice was polite, formal.

Will felt uncomfortable. He had the horrible feeling that Hannibal was mad at him. “Thanks. I might not be looking better for much longer if Alana finds out I was at a crime scene.”

“Why were you at a crime scene?”

Will sighed. “You know why.”

“I am trying to persuade you to start a relationship with me. I am hardly going to start murdering people so obviously while undergoing that ritual.”

“You're trying to start a relationship with me?” Will was stunned at the words. In his mind, he had pictured lingering glances across dinner parties and secret kisses in empty rooms if he decided to return to Hannibal.

“I believe that is the label people place on such things, yes.”

The longing Will felt for that made him feel strangely empty and desperate.

At Hannibal's house, he decided that Will's wheelchair was too muddy to be allowed inside. He carried Will in his arms, his touch gentle and caring, and draped a towel on the sofa before setting Will down there.

Will watched as Hannibal unbuttoned his coat with the same precise grace with which he did everything.

“You are staring at me.”

“Yes. Sorry.” Will closed his eyes, raked a hand through his dripping hair.

When he opened his eyes, Hannibal was standing before him, looking down at him with intense longing. It was usually hard to read his face, but his desire was naked, written across his features.

“Sit with me,” Will offered, his voice hoarse.

“You are too wet. Allow me to undress you.”

Will nodded, mute, as Hannibal unbuttoned his shirt. Hannibal's fingers burned his freezing skin. He shivered, cold and aroused, as Hannibal peeled it from him. Those hot fingers brushed his stomach teasingly as Hannibal unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down, lifting Will easily with his other hand. He made easy work of Will's socks and shoes and before he knew it, Will was sat naked on Hannibal's sofa.

“I thought you invited me for lunch,” Will said dryly, although his heart was racing and he was clearly and obviously interested.

“You are cold. Would you like to go to bed?”

Will could only nod his acquiescence and he felt himself being lifted again and taken to Hannibal's room. Memories of the time he had spent here overwhelmed him for a second.

Hannibal tucked him under the cover and removed his shoes, jacket and waistcoat before joining him. They sat together without speaking or touching.

“I've wanted to be back here all week,” Will said finally.

“I wanted you back. I told myself that I wouldn't allow myself to bring you here until you gave me a definite answer.”

“What changed your mind?” Will asked.

“My feelings for you are too strong.” Hannibal reached out and touched Will's cheek. He looked vulnerable, a word Will did not associate with him.

He reached up and kissed Hannibal gently, pressing his mouth against Hannibal's, taking in the familiar taste of him. Hannibal's hand curled at the base of Will's neck and he murmured something Will didn't understand against his mouth.

Hannibal ran his hand down Will's body, making the younger man shudder and moan into the kiss. He gripped Will's length with strong fingers and stroked him firmly. Will forgot everything he knew about Hannibal apart from the fact that he was here, touching him. He bucked his hips and reached down to touch Hannibal but his hands were pushed firmly away. Hannibal wanted to focus on Will.

Will gripped at Hannibal's shoulders with desperate hands as he lost himself. Hannibal was steady, controlled, and it took surprisingly few minutes before Will finished against Hannibal's suit trousers.

“I- your trousers- sorry-” Will gasped the words out, resting his face against Hannibal's chest, surprisingly embarrassed.

Hannibal tipped Will's face up so that they were looking at each other. “There is no need to apologise, Will.”

Will nodded, but his eyes were closing sleepily and his head was drifting elsewhere. He cuddled into Hannibal, feeling happier than he had any right to.

It was in that moment that he knew he loved Hannibal Lecter.

The thought should have terrified him, but he was drifting away, euphoric and tired.

Some time later, he woke up with buttons from Hannibal's shirt digging into his face. He sat up and glanced at Hannibal, who was still awake and watching Will closely.

“I'm sorry,” he said, “I didn't mean to fall asleep.”

“How many times must I tell you that there is no need to apologise, Will?”

Will smiled and rubbed at his face. This was some sort of beautiful dream. Waking up, curled against Hannibal- it should have been perfect. In a way, it was. Hannibal looked younger than he usually did, his hair slightly untidy from lying down, his eyes almost sparkling.

It was almost possible to forget the horrifying truth about him.


	4. Part 4

The following evening was just as bleak as the preceding one, and as the sun dipped behind the grey horizon, Will was sat in a bar with Beverly Katz, drinking a beer and avoiding his long-standing appointment as Hannibal's patient.

 

He had considered going, but it wasn't a good idea. He was still reeling from his own realisation that he loved Hannibal, and he definitely wasn't ready to reveal that.

 

When he had called to cancel, he had received no answer and had left a message.

 

Beverly had offered to take him out when she saw him moping about his classroom, and he had gladly accepted. Now, three drinks in, he was having a great evening.

 

“If I ask you something, will you be honest with me?” She was surveying him over her own beer bottle, eyebrows raised.

 

“It depends on the question.”

 

“You and Alana- is there something going on?”

 

To Will, it seemed absurd that people couldn't see his feelings for Hannibal written all over his face. “What makes you ask?”

 

“You're staying with her. She looks after you, she's clearly got a soft spot for you. Plus, she's beautiful and intelligent- why wouldn't you like her?”

 

Will remembered when he had liked her. She was beautiful, she was perfect and kind- Beverly was right. Why didn't he like her?

 

His life would be so much simpler if he had never met Hannibal. Part of him wished that he never had. He was a darker person for it.

 

“I do like her,” Will said. “I'm just not the sort of person who can have a normal relationship. She knows that.”

 

Beverly smiled. “I think everyone knows that.”

 

Will chuckled and took a long drink. He was thinking about Hannibal, who apparently wanted a relationship. It was both impossible and impossibly easy to imagine Hannibal snuggling into him on the sofa in front of a film, Hannibal holding his hand as they walked down the street, Hannibal bringing him breakfast in bed on their anniversary.

 

How ridiculous.

 

He could never trust Hannibal. The man was a ruthless, clever killer. Will knew he couldn't turn Hannibal in now, but he still didn't think he could condone what he did by getting together with him.

 

His phone rang in his pocket and he held a hand up to Beverly as he reached for it. It was Jack. He frowned, wondering if there had been another murder.

 

“Jack?”

 

“Will.” Jack sounded upset and worried. “It's Hannibal- he's been attacked. He's in the hospital.”

 

Will felt the world tilt and he found he was gripping onto the table for support. “What happened? Is he going to be alright?”

 

“I'll explain when you get here. He's in a bad way.”

 

“We're on our way.” Will hung up and took a deep breath. Beverly was staring at him, her face full of concern. “It's Hannibal. He's in the hospital. He's been attacked.”

 

Concern grew on Beverly's face, as well as understanding. She stood up, abandoning her drink. Pulling her coat on, she grabbed Will's wheelchair and pushed him out of the bar into the car park.

 

Beverly's car smelled very different to Hannibal's. Empty coffee cups littered the floor around Will's feet. She pulled away as he fastened his seatbelt, her face determined.

 

She was an amazingly erratic driver. On the drive to the bar, Will had gripped onto his seat for dear life. Now, he was thankful for her flagrant disregard for the rules of the road.

 

“How long have you two been...?” She asked the question with no hands on the wheel, fastening her own seat belt. She grabbed the wheel at the last minute to avoid crashing into a lorry, then sped past it.

 

It was pointless trying to deny it. Will knew his face was white. He was imagining a hundred horrible scenarios. “A week. It feels like longer.”

 

“Wasn't that when you broke your ankle?” Beverly was almost too intelligent for her own good.

 

“I got myself into a situation where I needed his help.” Not a lie.

 

“It seems like he might need yours now.”

 

“That's hard to imagine.”

 

The car squealed to a stop in front of the hospital. Will saw Abigail rushing down to the car. Her emotions made her look young. She opened the passenger door and threw her arms around his neck, clinging onto him.

 

“Hey- it's ok,” Will said automatically, smoothing her hair and saying words he didn't mean.

 

“Why don't you two go inside? I need to park anyway. I'll see you in there,” Beverly said.

 

Will wheeled himself into the hospital beside Abigail. His heart was thundering in his chest. He wanted to ask her what had happened, but she seemed a little overwhelmed. Her eyes were huge and bright.

 

Jack was standing in the corridor, arms folded. He raised an eyebrow when he saw Will.

 

“What happened?” Will asked. He glanced nervously at the closed door.

 

“The murderer we've been looking for is Hannibal's patient- a young man named Greg Walker. He had an appointment tonight and tried to attack Hannibal. Luckily, Hannibal fought him off. He's escaped, unfortunately.”

 

A horrible idea was taking root in Will's mind. He blinked, trying to keep it away, trying to stay present. “How bad is it?”

 

“He's lost a lot of blood. He came around about ten minutes ago. Alana is in there with him.”

 

Will nodded. Relief had flooded his body. He entered the room to find Alana sitting beside the bed, her hand on Hannibal's arm. Hannibal looked at him as he entered. His face was already bruising. He looked weaker than Will had ever seen him. An IV was inserted into his arm, and he had a nasal cannula.

 

“Alana, I think you should go and speak to Abigail. She's very upset.” Will heard his own words from a distance.

 

Alana gave him a reassuring smile, touching Will's shoulder as she passed him. The door closed and Will was left alone with Hannibal.

 

“I am glad you are here.” Hannibal sounded choked, and Will imagined a raw, painful throat.

 

Will wheeled over and, after a moment's consideration, took Hannibal's hand in his own. He noticed that the knuckles were bandaged.

 

Will swallowed. His emotions were threatening to overwhelm him. They were complicated and numerous. He settled on relief, first. “I suppose this is the universe getting revenge on you for breaking my ankle.”

 

Hannibal gave him a weak smile. “Perhaps.”

 

“Hannibal, I have to ask you something. Please don't lie to me.”

 

Hannibal's eyes darkened, but he nodded.

 

Will covered his eyes with his spare hand before he spoke, focusing on ordering the ideas in his head. “When I interpreted the evidence at the second crime scene, I knew that someone had influenced the killer. He was confused, damaged. It wasn't his design. He's your patient, someone you could manipulate and influence. It was your design.” Will concentrated. He knew what had happened, now he needed to figure out why. It came to him vividly, painfully, and he pulled his hand away from Hannibal's. “You had an appointment with him before me. You persuaded him to attack you, didn't you? You wanted me to come and- and what?”

 

Hannibal sighed. “I wanted you to kill him.”

 

“Why?” Will could feel tears welling up. Hannibal hadn't even bothered trying to deny it. Two people were dead because Hannibal had wanted Will to shoot somebody. He felt sick.

 

A pause. Hannibal looked away. “I wanted to show you how much you are like me. You enjoy killing. I wanted you to see me as a victim, not simply as a monster.”

 

“I don't view you simply as a monster. Or I didn't. The scales are falling from my eyes.” Will had pushed himself back from the bed without thinking. “You told me you wanted me to make a decision alone- without being manipulated.”

 

“I set these events in motion weeks ago. I have not had an appointment with Greg Walker in two weeks.”

 

“Why would you try to cause these _events_ before we were- you know?”

 

Hannibal flashed him a wolfish smile. “You are quite mistaken if you believe my fascination with you started last week, Will.”

 

“Don't look at me like that. Don't say those things- not now. If that's true, then what happened tonight? You must have persuaded him to attack you.”

 

“I saw an opportunity and took it. Perhaps I overestimated my ability to avoid that temptation we have talked about.”

 

Silence fell. Will was cradling his head in his hands, thinking back to those images he had thought of earlier in the bar; the cosy, typical relationship ideals. He was such a fool. Hannibal watched him quietly.

 

“He got away because I cancelled my appointment,” said Will finally. “Will he kill again?”

 

“I do not believe so. As you sensed, without my influence, he is not a killer.”

 

Will sighed. “I need to go. I made a mistake trusting you.”  
  


Hannibal spoke one word, the only word which could undo Will's resolution to leave. “Please.”


	5. Part 5

Hannibal winced when he woke up; the knife wound on his side was tender. He felt weak. He had lost too much blood.

 

What a catastrophe this whole thing had been. When he had first started influencing Greg Walker, it had been weeks ago. Life had been very different then; Will was merely an interesting person, someone he wanted to be friends with. He had seen a dark side in Will he wanted to encourage- mostly for his own amusement.

 

At some point, his feelings for Will had become complicated. Too complicated. Will's trust in him was undeserved and beautiful, something fragile he had held in his hand. His to play with, his to destroy.

 

He hadn't been lying when he had told Will that he was the most important person. Quite when that had happened, Hannibal couldn't identify. He had broken Will's ankle with cold precision, aware that it was necessary for his own self-preservation, and he was quite sure he would do it again if necessary. That was the way he was. But something tender had wormed its way into his ruthlessly organised life.

 

Will was asleep, lying on the sofa in the hospital room. He had stayed the night.

 

His intention had been to allow Will to make his own decision, but he had seen an opportunity with Greg Walker last night and taken it. He had been expecting Will to burst in the door the second that Greg had stabbed him.

 

And now everything was even more complicated.

 

But Will was still here. He was still lying there, sleeping, protecting Hannibal. A warm feeling that was utterly foreign to Hannibal exploded in his chest.

 

He remembered Alana's expression when Will had informed her that he would not be returning home with her last night. She had glanced from Hannibal back to Will, and the beginnings of understanding had dawned in her eyes.

 

Hannibal had wanted her to know Will was his. He wanted the world to know.

 

Except Will wasn't his. Not yet.

 

Will blinked, waking up slowly. His hair was a mass of curls sticking up the wrong way, his eyes bleary and confused.

 

“Good morning, Will,” Hannibal said gently. His throat was still very sore from Walker's hands choking him. He dreaded to think what he looked like.

 

Will sat up, yawning, his eyes on Hannibal. “Are you feeling better?”

 

“Much, thank you,” he replied, although that wasn't really true.

 

Will was already lost in thought. How many hours had he spent during his life inside his brain? How many days?

 

“Will, thank you for staying with me,” Hannibal said, hoping to prompt him back to the present.

 

“Against my better instincts, I still care about you,” Will replied, frowning. “You planned this whole thing perfectly, didn't you?”

 

Hannibal wasn't sure what Will wanted to hear, so he didn't respond.

 

“Why have you done this to me?” Will asked.

 

“To what are you referring specifically?” Hannibal felt uncomfortable. The bed was hard, his arm ached from the IV, and his head was sore. He was used to having the advantage in their discussions, but he definitely didn't have it now.

 

“Making me... feel like this. Manipulating me.”

 

“I don't believe I manipulated you to feel this way. Whatever it is that you are feeling, it arose within you quite naturally. I was always fascinated by you, but I felt that the possibility of anything more than friendship was simply an impossibility with you, so I did not pursue it. It was you who followed me and kissed me when I walked away at my home. That is the truth. Feelings of love cannot be forced.”

 

He had chosen the word _love_ quite deliberately, wanting to see the effect of it on Will, who turned a revealing shade of pink.

 

“The reason for my actions last night is quite simple,” continued Hannibal. “I have given you the opportunity to make a choice, one which I do want you to make alone. However, my own feelings for you are strong. I could not resist what I saw as an opportunity to bring you back to me.”  
  


“I don't see how we can have a relationship. As much as I care about you, you will always be a killer.” Will paused. “And you won't stop. Not even for me.”

 

“If I was going to stop for anyone, it would be you.” Hannibal was surprised that the words were true. “However, I will not stop.”

 

Will swung himself into his wheelchair and approached the bed. He reached out his hand and Will took it gently, staring at it before looking back at Hannibal.

 

“I want you more than I've ever wanted anything,” Will said. There were tears in his eyes.

 

“Then your choice should be simple.”

 

Will's smile was sad, and he exhaled loudly as he glanced away. “It doesn't work like that. You are selfish. You do what you want because you want to do it. I can't do that. I'm not that person.”

 

Breaking Will sometimes wasn't as entertaining as expected.

 

“I am not used to sharing my life with another person, Will.” Hannibal found these words hard to say. He rarely shared small parts of the truth with anyone- with Will, he was getting closer and closer to revealing the whole truth. Dangerous. “You are not incorrect when you say that I am selfish. However, where you are concerned, my feelings are beyond mere greed.”

 

Will's eyes were glazed yet fierce. He was focusing, lost in Hannibal, trying to get inside Hannibal's head. His gift was always unnerving- watching him using it while it was directed at you was something else entirely. Hannibal had the novel sensation of feeling like someone was in his mind, poking about, and not liking what he found there.

 

“You didn't intend to have feelings for me.” His voice was distant. “I was a plaything for you- something amusing and entertaining. I wasn't the first.” Suddenly, he let out a barking laugh, humourless and bitter, back in the present. “I wasn't even the first, was I?”

 

His hand pulled away, and he was moving back.

 

Hannibal had the distinct feeling he was losing Will. He had lost control. He was in pain and he couldn't think clearly. “It is true that you were not the first patient I found interesting enough to-”

 

“To what?” Will was on the verge of anger. The rage he always kept so carefully locked away inside of him was threatening to burst out. In any other moment, it might have been beautiful to behold.

 

Hannibal wasn't sure how to phrase it delicately, but in the end it didn't matter.

 

“You've been lying to me from the beginning. I trusted you, Doctor Lecter.” Always back to the formal title in times of disagreement. Will's words were forced out from beneath clenched teeth.

 

He turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

 

His absence left a heavy silence. Hannibal did feel truly helpless. He was without a plan, without any idea of how to manipulate the situation.

 

All he knew was that he couldn't lose Will.


	6. Part 6

The next week passed in a vague blur.

 

It wasn't unusual for Will to space out, to be oblivious to time passing, but this was different. It was almost deliberate.

 

He went to work, he taught his lessons. He talked to Jack briefly about the psychiatrist killer, but there had been no further developments. He ate his meals with Alana. He spent the nights he couldn't sleep sitting in the rain, oblivious to the cold in his body.

 

The world was grey without Hannibal.

 

Alana visited Hannibal daily, and gave Will updates he didn't ask for. She asked if he wanted to come with her, and he always declined politely.

 

It was so hard to resist the urge to go to him. The man who had been lying in that hospital bed, bruised and broken, had seemed a changed man, at least slightly. The knowledge that Will hadn't been the first patient to be deliberately manipulated and toyed with by Hannibal still chafed at Will. It didn't matter how much Hannibal changed.

 

He couldn't be trusted.

 

And so Will spent the week trying to ignore his strongest desires, trying to focus on his life. The conflict of these two things was what caused the abstract quality of that week.

 

Will couldn't help being a little displeased when Hannibal didn't call him.

 

Maybe he didn't mean that much to him after all.

 

Eight days after he had walked out of the hospital, he was sitting eating dinner with Alana when things changed yet again.

 

“Hannibal is back at home,” she said lightly.

 

“Good,” said Will, and he did feel some relief.

 

Alana sipped her beer, her eyes suddenly fixed on Will. “I want us to talk about him, Will.”

 

“There's nothing to say.” Unlike the object of his affections, Will had never been a brilliant liar, and the words sounded hollow and false to both of them.

 

“That's what he said. He at least tried to sound convincing.” Alana had put her knife and fork down. “Will, I really want us to talk about it.”

 

Will felt uncomfortably scrutinised. “I don't know if that's a good idea, Alana.”

 

She looked sad. Her eyes were big and bright, her hair framing her face and making it look like porcelain. “I know I said that you were too... damaged. When we found out it was encephalitis, I hoped that we would... But you haven't made any indication. And now I know it's because of Hannibal.”  
  


She was sad because of his feelings for Hannibal? For a moment, he wanted to lean over and kiss her- not because of any particular desire, but because it would be so easy. Their lives could be so normal. For Will, that was as normal as his life could ever be.

 

It was too late.

 

“I'm sorry,” he said.

 

Later, he sat outside. The rain was still showing no sign of stopping. It soaked through his jumper, his shirt, his jeans. His hair was plastered to his face.

 

He breathed the cool air in deeply, revelling in the beautiful pain it caused in his lungs.

 

The house behind him was dark. Alana had gone to bed; she was hurting, but he couldn't fix it. He couldn't offer her what she needed.

 

Alana's house was not secluded as his was, and he was sat by the road. It was quiet, as it always was at this time of night. There was nobody to judge the strange man sitting in a wheelchair, the man who was clearly enjoying getting soaked through.

 

Nobody apart from the man pulling up in the sleek car beside him.

 

Will wasn't even surprised to see Hannibal climb out. He was quite certain that he would never be truly surprised by Hannibal again.

 

Hannibal's bruises were healing, but his face was still discoloured. He seemed to move a little more slowly than he usually did. His expression was hard to read.

 

Will wasn't sure what to say, and he expected Hannibal to say, “Good evening, Will.” He expected the usual smooth, calm manipulation he always received.

 

What he didn't expect was to see Hannibal cross over to him and drop to his knees on the pavement. Will had one moment to feel some sympathy for Hannibal's suit trousers, which were currently resting in a puddle, before Hannibal tangled his gloved hand in Will's dripping curls and pressed his mouth against his.

 

Will was so cold that he felt like Hannibal's kiss was burning, but it wasn't unpleasant.

 

He felt the strange vagueness of the past week fall away for a moment, and he felt perfect clarity as he gave into the kiss, allowing Hannibal to probe his mouth with his tongue. He balled his fist around the lapel of Hannibal's coat.

 

“I need to speak with you,” Hannibal said when their lips came apart. They were both gasping for breath.

 

Will surveyed the man before him. He was becoming just as wet and bedraggled as Will. It was hard for Will to remember that this was a man he couldn't trust.

 

“You were correct to leave me. It pains me to admit it, but I deserve your anger. If you never wish to speak with me again, I will understand it, and I will try to leave you alone.” Hannibal's hand was still in Will's hair; he was toying with it subconsciously. It made Will shudder.

 

“I don't want that,” Will admitted. “I feel like I should want that, but I don't.”

 

“You were correct when you inferred that you were not the first patient I had been interested in. However, you are the only patient I have ever felt this way about, and I hope that that matters to you, because it is unusual and frightening for me.”  
  


“Frightening?” Will repeated. “Hannibal Lecter, afraid of something? I don't believe you.”

 

“I was afraid when you left me. I was afraid that you would never return.”

 

“Why do I matter so much?” Will wanted desperately to believe his words.

 

“Because I am a work of fiction. You know the truth about me, and you still care about me. That makes you unique. It is more than that; I enjoy your company. I think about you all the time when you are not with me.”

 

The words were matter-of-fact, but there was something ardent in his eyes. Will felt a sigh escape his own lips and he pulled Hannibal close, kissing him again, needing to be close to him.

 

“Come back with me,” Hannibal said. “There is something I wish to give you.”

 

Will raised an eyebrow and he was rewarded with a chuckle.

 

“Something important,” Hannibal murmured. “Please.”

 

_Please_ was what did it. He nodded and allowed Hannibal to lift him; he pressed his face briefly into his neck and breathed in his warm scent.

 

They were silent in the car. Will tried to gather his thoughts. He had left Hannibal, but he had known that he would end up back with him. He remembered Hannibal telling him that he was  _attracted to danger_ , and he supposed that he was.

 

Hannibal's face was a mystery to him. Will wanted to tell him that he loved him. It was bubbling up inside of him, threatening to come spilling out. He wanted to see Hannibal's face when he told him. Hannibal would be outraged; as much as he cared for Will, love would always be a step too far. Hannibal was far too organised and careful to allow something like love.

 

Perhaps hearing Hannibal reject his confession of love would finally prompt Will into getting out of this ridiculous situation.

 

He couldn't bring himself to do it.

 

At Hannibal's home, he found himself being carried inside without his wheelchair again. Hannibal didn't turn on any lights, and the rooms were bathed in soft, silvery moonlight. Will kissed his throat before he was set down on the couch, tasting the smooth skin.

 

Hannibal looked down at him for a long moment, then he peeled off his gloves and coat before joining him on the sofa. They kissed; they were desperate and passionate, lovers reunited. It was the first time that Will had felt equal to Hannibal.

 

It was hard to pinpoint who first began tugging at the other's clothes, but Will thought it was perhaps himself; shirts and jackets were torn off in a haste, trouser buttons fumbled with by Will and easily released by Hannibal.

 

Hannibal's skin looked glowing in the moonlight. Will was very aware of how pale he was in comparison. There was still a dressing on Hannibal's wound.

 

He was surprised when Hannibal pulled him onto his lap, so that he was straddling him, facing him. He had been given a position of power, and he felt very powerful as Hannibal stroked him while kissing him. His hands grabbed Hannibal's shoulders, fingernails biting into flesh.

 

He groaned as Hannibal slid his finger inside of him and, when it was removed again, Will lowered himself onto his length. His reward was a growl from Hannibal that he tasted in his mouth.

 

All of the cold disappeared from Will's body as he moved around Hannibal. It was achingly gentle; he cried out when Hannibal kissed his neck.

 

The world was forgotten for a moment, as was the truth.

 

Afterwards, they lay on the couch, a tangle of limbs. The rain pattered gently against the windows, and Will was very aware of their breathing.

 

“Will, tell me you are not going to leave me again,” Hannibal murmured against his forehead.

 

“I won't leave. I don't think I can.”


	7. Part 7

Several hours later, Hannibal awoke feeling cold. They had drifted into sleep on the couch, naked and curled around each other.

 

He looked down at Will. He was pressed into Hannibal, his eyes closed, his breathing slow. He was utterly at peace.

 

Hannibal could feel how cold Will was. He stood up, careful not to disturb the younger man, and went to retrieve the quilt from his bed. He pulled on his dressing gown before returning to Will, draping the quilt over him delicately.

 

He felt quite awake. He sat down on the chair opposite the couch and watched Will.

 

There was a name for what he felt. He knew what it was; he could taste it in his mouth. It was burned into his heart.

 

He _was_ afraid; that hadn't been a lie. The way he felt about Will made him vulnerable.

 

A knock on the door about ten minutes later startled him out of his musings. He looked at the clock- it was a little before six in the morning.

 

Will shifted but didn't wake up. Hannibal resisted the urge to kiss his curls before heading to open the door. He was tense. He had a feeling he knew who would be on the other side, and the conversation to follow was not one he was looking forward to.

 

As he suspected, it was Alana. She had clearly thrown on the clothes she had been wearing yesterday. Her eyes were panicked.

 

“Hannibal, Will has disappeared. Have you heard from him? I'm worried he's somehow sleepwalking in that wheelchair.” There were dark shadows beneath her wide eyes.

 

He swallowed, then made a decision. “Please come inside, Alana.”

 

His calm demeanour seemed to startle Alana, and she followed him into the lounge with an air of confusion. He could hear her sharp intake of breath when she saw the pile of shirts and trousers they had peeled from each other last night.

 

He watched her register the sight of Will asleep, tucked up cosily. Several emotions crossed her face. He was perhaps being cruel, making her see clear evidence that Will belonged to him, but he needed her to know.

 

“I see,” she said quietly.

 

“I am sorry we did not let you know he was leaving last night,” Hannibal said, trying to keep his tone gentle. “That was rather rude.”

 

She nodded. “Yes. No, that's alright.”

 

“Would you care for some breakfast?”

 

Will's eyes flickered open then, and he looked from Hannibal to Alana with a crease forming between his eyebrows.

 

“No, thank you. I'll see you later, Will.”

 

Hannibal saw her to the door, touching her shoulder in a supportive, understanding gesture that had no emotions behind it whatsoever. She nodded and left.

 

Will was sitting up when he returned.

 

“Correct me if I'm wrong,” he said slowly, his voice thick with sleep, “but did you just show me off to Alana like an exhibit in a zoo?”

 

“She wanted to know where you were.”

 

Will shook his head, stretching. “You're just so manipulative, aren't you?” There was no malice in his words; Hannibal was sure that Will was starting to accept him.

 

“It has been suggested that I am, yes.”

 

Will smiled at him then; it was bright and genuine, the sort of smile that rarely graced his face.

 

“Would you like what I brought you here to give you?” Hannibal asked. His heart was starting to pick up speed in his chest.

 

Will raised an eyebrow again. “There really was something? I thought it was all an elaborate ruse.”

 

“For once, no. Wait there.”

 

Hannibal retrieved the leather-bound journal from his desk, weighing it in his hands for a few moments. When he had created this document yesterday, he had been frenzied with a passion he rarely felt.

 

This was the biggest decision he had made.

 

When he handed it to Will, Will looked confused, turning it over in his fingers to find a clue as to what was inside.

 

“I am not a trustworthy person,” Hannibal said. His fingers were shaking; he folded them before him. “I do not expect you to trust me. I thought I would offer you some insurance.”

 

“I...”

 

“Inside that journal, I have written a confession. It is the absolute truth- you may read it, if you desire to.”

 

“I don't want to,” Will said, and his voice came out strangled. “I think I may be better off not knowing the truth.”

 

“It is yours to keep, yours to do with what you will.”

 

“I don't want to keep it.” Will extended his arm, offering the book back to Hannibal, begging him with his eyes to take this power away from him.

 

“I need to know that you feel like you have some choice in this.”

 

Will said nothing, merely nodded sadly and cradled the journal.

 

“I want you to come and stay with me for two weeks- a trial, if you will. If you decide at the end of it that you don't wish to be with me, you can leave and I will attempt to leave you alone.” The idea of Will leaving was almost too painful to contemplate.

 

Will chewed his lip. “I would like that. I have two conditions, though.”

 

Hannibal knew what the first condition was going to be before Will spoke, and it made him thin his lips when he heard it.

 

“No killing. Not for two weeks.” Will said the words in a rush. He was in denial about Hannibal's secret, and he did not want to talk about it. Hannibal could hardly blame him.

 

“I will agree to this for two weeks. I have told you several times that I will not stop, and you need to believe that and accept that.”

 

Will nodded. “I believe that. I don't know if I can accept it or not. I suppose we have two weeks to find out.”

 

Hannibal couldn't let Will go. He had some ideas about how he could make him accept it. However, he merely nodded.

 

“If I decide to stay at the end of the two weeks, I need you to take this back from me.” Will gestured to the journal. “I don't want it.”

 

Hannibal hesitated. It had cost him a lot to give the journal to Will.

 

“Can that be something we decide at the end of the two weeks?” he asked. “You may find I am less trustworthy than you believe.”

 

“I highly doubt that's possible,” Will said dryly.

 

Hannibal found himself laughing. He sat down beside Will and tugged him close, breathing in his familiar earthy scent. Will relaxed into his embrace easily, automatically, and Hannibal knew that despite his protests Will _did_ trust him, as foolish and delightful as that was.

 

“Would you care for some coffee?” Hannibal asked.

 

He could feel Will hesitate against his chest. “Actually, if you don't mind, I'd quite like some breakfast.” Bright eyes met his. “I can't stay here for two weeks without eating, can I?”

 

“That is true. I imagine you would prefer something vegetarian?”

 

Later that morning, a showered and cheerful Will sat beside Hannibal as they drove to the hospital.  _Cheerful_ was not a word that Hannibal had ever associated with Will, but he was practically glowing.

 

Hannibal imagined a different life. One where he had met Will before things had become so deliciously dark. If he was honest, though, he was quite sure that Will craved his darkness as much as he enjoyed Will's lightness.

 

Will had an appointment to get his ankle checked. Hannibal conveniently had the morning free (cleared when he had learned from Alana two days ago about this appointment) and had offered to take him.

 

Hannibal pushed Will into the hospital and they sat side-by-side in the waiting room. Hannibal reached across and took Will's hand, enjoying the startled look which crossed his face. An attractive blush tinged his cheeks.

 

The doctor proclaimed that Will was very much on the mend, and they left with Will on crutches instead of in the wheelchair.

 

“It's a good thing you already agreed to stay with me for two weeks,” Hannibal observed as they climbed into his car.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because otherwise I might have had to break your other ankle to stop you running away.”

 

Will punched him playfully in the arm. It was such a wonderfully bizarre reaction to his comment that Hannibal leaned over and kissed him full on the mouth.


	8. Part 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter I’ve really struggled with- it ended up getting a bit of a rewrite. It turns out I am not as good at writing when the story starts to get happy. Anyway, enjoy :)

Day one they spent in bed, becoming familiar with every inch of the other's body.

 

Day two was spent in a similar fashion.

 

On the third day, Hannibal had appointments and Will needed to teach. Hannibal dropped him off with a tender kiss and Will couldn't believe how lucky he was.

 

Away from Hannibal, leaning on his crutches and trying to string a sentence together for his students without blurting out that he was in love, Will felt in a haze. His body ached deliciously. His heart missed Hannibal.

 

After his class, Will went to visit Jack.

 

“Nice to see you out of that wheelchair. Not all crime scenes are accessible in those things,” Jack said.

 

“Have I missed anything?” Will asked.

 

“No. It's been surprisingly quiet.”

 

Will wanted to tell Jack that it would continue to be quiet for the next eleven days, because the FBI's most wanted was too busy romancing its most mentally disturbed profiler. Instead, he nodded seriously. “Has there been any news on Walker- the guy who attacked Hannibal?”

 

“None. We've had no luck locating him. It's possible he has left the area. What do you think?”

 

Will frowned. Walker had been manipulated by Hannibal into making an attempt on his life, after successfully killing two people. Either Walker still thought he should kill Hannibal because Hannibal had influenced him to, or he was starting to regain control, in which case he might very well want to kill Hannibal in revenge. “I doubt he has left the area. It's likely Hannibal is still in danger.” Will wasn't sure how he felt. Scared for Hannibal, afraid to lose him- but on the other hand, it was very difficult to imagine Hannibal being defeated.

 

Will went to see Beverly next. She was frowning over some samples when he walked in. She smiled when she saw him.

 

“Hey, Beverly. I think I owe you a beer if you're up for it,” he said.

 

“How do you figure?” she asked.

 

“You drove me to the hospital the other day.”

 

She drove to the bar in her fantastically dangerous style, with Will gripping quietly onto his chair for dear life. She managed to resist her burning desire to ask questions until they were both sat with a beer in front of them.

 

“So... you and Hannibal...?”

 

He chewed his lip quietly for a moment, unsure how to respond to the question. He settled on the truth, or at least a version of it. “I'm staying with him. We're trying to see if things can work between us.”

 

“I imagine he's a hard man to live with.”

 

Will's smile was involuntary. “In more ways than one.”

 

When Beverly dropped him off, Hannibal was still in an appointment. Will made his way to the kitchen and made himself a coffee, balancing precariously when he removed his hands from his crutches.

 

He leaned against the counter, sipping the hot, bitter liquid. It was amazing how easily he had slotted into life here.

 

Will Graham finally fitted in somewhere.

 

He was smiling into his coffee when Hannibal came in.

 

“Hello, Hannibal,” he said.

 

“What are you smiling about?” Hannibal asked, his own face softening into a smile automatically.

 

“The irony.”

 

“What irony is that?” Hannibal was making himself some coffee now, his motions smoother and more confident than Will's would be even if he wasn't struggling to balance.

 

Will chuckled. “I don't fit in anywhere, and even though society shuns me, I try my best to catch killers and make the world a better place. Then I find that I do fit in- with a killer.”

 

Hannibal looked at him closely, assessing his mood, then he smiled again when he realised that Will was actually quite cheerful. He leaned against the counter beside him. “That does seem to be quite a painful example of irony.”

 

Will placed his coffee down and pressed his mouth against Hannibal's throat. “The most excruciating.”

 

Hannibal growled and it vibrated against Will's lips. Within seconds, Will was sitting up on the counter, crutches lying abandoned on the floor. His hands gripped Hannibal's shoulders helplessly as they kissed.

 

“I want to ask you something,” Hannibal said, the words murmured against his mouth when they came up for air.

 

Will could only nod.

 

“I want to invite Abigail to dinner. I think it would be nice for her to spend some time with us.”

 

Will nodded again. “I can't believe you're asking my permission,” he said, his voice hoarse. “You've never done that before.”

 

Hannibal flashed him a grin, the kind that brightened his face and made him look like a wayward teenager. “Truthfully, I have already invited her.”

 

“I hate you,” Will said, reaching up to smooth Hannibal's hair, a gesture that mere days ago would have seemed too intimate to contemplate. “I hate you very much.”

 

“No, you don't.” The words were breathed warmly against his ear.

 

Goosebumps erupted pleasantly across Will's skin. “I'm undecided,” he whimpered, breath catching in his throat as Hannibal bit his earlobe firmly.

 

“You can't lie to your psychiatrist.” Hannibal was nibbling his way down Will's throat now.

 

“You're not my psychiatrist.” Will was gripping his back, his head thrown back to allow Hannibal access to his neck. His eyes were closed; he was surrounded by Hannibal.

 

Hannibal trailed his tongue beneath Will's shirt, making him shiver. “Hmm. What am I, then?”

 

It wasn't until Hannibal entered him that Will managed to form an answer; with their clothes pooled around them on the kitchen floor, and Will's hands pinned to the counter and his throat thoroughly bruised, the two men lost themselves in each other, and when Will said the words he wasn't even aware of consciously thinking them.

 

“You're mine,” he gasped out, as he finished against Hannibal's stomach. “You're mine.”

 

Hannibal cleaned the kitchen counter thoroughly before he started preparing dinner. Will felt utterly superfluous when Hannibal was cooking, and found himself getting in the way. With a vaguely irritated sigh, Hannibal gave him a glass of wine he wasn't capable of appreciating and told him to sit still and drink it.

 

Abigail arrived with Alana. Will was very happy to see them both, but especially Abigail. He tried not to let himself get inside her head too much, but he knew that they shared a lot of darknesses. It was one of the reasons why her thoughtless, comfortable hug meant so much.

 

“What have you done to your neck?” Alana asked, frowning.

 

Will coloured, and reached up automatically to cover the mark with his hand. Abigail was openly staring, her mouth open.

 

“Who was the lucky lady?” she asked.

 

“I am not sure I have ever been described as a 'lady', but I am certainly feeling quite lucky.” Hannibal had stepped out into the hall behind Will.

 

They stood together, and Will felt that he was part of a team. When Hannibal reached out and touched his back, he smiled gently.

 

Alana smiled back, and it was a brittle smile, but at least she was trying. Abigail looked utterly thrilled, and Will's fantasy of the perfect life with Hannibal suddenly gained an emotionally damaged adopted daughter.

 

What a hideous idea. Surely no two people were less suited to being parents.

 

After dinner, Hannibal wouldn't let Will help with the washing up. Abigail and Alana left and the house felt oddly hushed.

 

Hannibal had removed his jacket and pushed up his sleeves to do the washing up, and the artificial light in the kitchen did nothing to stop him from looking almost impossibly attractive. It would be so easy to believe that Hannibal was innocent.

 

It had been so easy.

 

Could Will just turn a blind eye to the truth? Already, after a mere three days, the truth had blurred into the background, something he was aware of but didn't really think about.

 

“Will, can I ask you about something you said earlier?” Hannibal asked, not looking at him.

 

“Of course.”

 

“You said I was yours. Did you mean that?”

 

“I....” Will blushed involuntarily when he thought back to the moment he had blurted that out. He blinked. Hannibal looked _vulnerable,_ his eyes cast down towards the plate he was holding. “Surely that's your decision?” He hadn't meant it to be a question, but when the words came out they sounded more like a plea.

 

Hannibal wiped his hands delicately before approaching where Will was sitting. He curled his fingers gently around Will's shoulder. “You should be grateful that it is not my decision,” he said carefully. “However, I am yours if you will have me.”

 

Will nodded. He felt strangely emotional. “No matter what happens after these two weeks, you will always be the most important thing.”

 

He almost blurted out that he loved Hannibal, but at that moment Hannibal kissed him, and the words were lost.


	9. Part 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little short and basically has every human emotion.

Will was having a nightmare. He shivered and groaned, his body covered in cold sweat. Hannibal held him close, stroking his skin gently, murmuring nothingnesses into his ear.

 

Will's stormy eyes snapped open and he took a shuddering, terrified breath. Hannibal looked down at him, displeased to see that Will was on the verge of tears.

 

“What is it?” Hannibal asked gently.

 

“I saw you... killing.” Will was dragging his hands through his damp curls. His face was scrunched up.

 

Hannibal hesitated, unsure of the right thing to say or do. Seeing Will like this was very uncomfortable for him, but at the same time, this was something that Will needed to accept.

 

Will wriggled away from him, and left Hannibal painfully aware of his absence. The curtains were open and the room was full of the pale pink light of sunrise. Will looked so innocent and fragile in that light.

 

He sat at the edge of the bed, face cradled in his fingers. Hannibal could see the shadow of his spine beneath the pale skin; he wanted to reach out and trail his fingers down it, but he sensed that now was the wrong moment for such a gesture.

 

“I used to dream about it all the time,” Will said, words pressed into his own fingers. “It was terrifying. Now I have a face to put on the killer, and it's yours.”

 

“I am more than just that. You know this.”

 

Will said nothing.

 

“You wanted me to be yours yesterday.” Hannibal was trying hard to keep emotion from tainting his words too heavily. “You can have me. All I ask is that you take all of me.”

 

Still no reply.

 

“Killing terrifies you so much because you crave it.”

 

Finally, a response. Not a positive one, but still better than nothing. Will turned to him with fire in his eyes. “We are _not_ alike.”

 

“You don't dress as well as I do, certainly, but we share several base instincts.” If questioned, Hannibal would never be able to explain why he was trying to provoke Will. He would have liked to believe that it was because angry, passionate Will was a beautiful thing, and it was, but that wasn't the truth.

 

“I hate you.” Will had spoken the same words last night, in a gentle tone that suggested the opposite. Now they were venomous, bitter.

 

“I'm afraid that it's clear how you feel.”

 

Suddenly, Will was on top of him, pinning his wrists with surprising strength and glaring down at him with bared teeth. He was wild, and beautiful, and dangerous. Hannibal relaxed into his grip, fairly confident that he could escape if necessary, and very interested to see what Will was gong to do.

 

“How do I feel, Doctor Lecter?” The words were icy and threatening.

 

Hannibal wondered how much to reveal. He had read Will thoroughly, knew that the younger man was in love with him. Despite himself, he didn't want Will to tell him that in this sort of situation, when their tempers were flared. “You care for me more than you care for anyone. You are surprised at how well you fit here, and at how happy you feel. You wish you could forget the truth about me, but it lingers constantly.”

 

Will's fingers tightened momentarily, painful around his wrists, before he released them and lay down quietly beside Hannibal. The wild moment had passed; Will was a broken human being again, quiet and contemplative.

 

“You are the only person who has ever made me wish I was different,” Hannibal said honestly, murmuring the words against Will's forehead. Suddenly, he was drowning in the need to fix Will's sadness.

 

“I believe you,” Will said quietly.

 

“I'm sorry.” Hannibal wasn't used to saying the words, much less meaning them, but he meant them now. He repeated them against Will's temple, tasting the salty sweat on his brow.

 

The moment haunted him after he dropped Will off to teach. As he drove back, he thought about how much his life had changed. He was so used to doing his own thing, whenever he wanted. He was used to manipulating people, toying with them. He didn't know what to do when his own feelings were stirred.

 

Will wanted him to give up killing, but he knew he couldn't.

 

Could they compromise?

 

Hannibal couldn't let Will go. He had fallen in love with him.

 

He sat alone that afternoon, sipping coffee, wondering what to do. The kindest thing to do would be to let Will go. He couldn't offer Will the life he wanted or deserved.

 

Hannibal was a selfish man. He had to find a way to make it work.

 

When he went to collect Will that evening, he found Will talking to one of his students. He was leaning on his crutches heavily, still awkward on them. His eyes were distant behind his glasses, his face scrunched up slightly. He was a delightfully antisocial creature.

 

He smiled at Hannibal when he saw him. The student scampered off, clearly sensing she was unwanted.

 

“You didn't have to come inside for me,” Will said.

 

“I wanted to.” Hannibal crossed to him, lowered his mouth to him and kissed him.

 

He held Will steady on his crutches as they kissed.

 

“I have a surprise for you,” Hannibal murmured when they drew apart.

 

Will raised an eyebrow. “I dread to think what it could be.”

 

“So suspicious, Mr Graham. What have I ever done to deserve such doubt?”

 

Will laughed and together they went outside to where Hannibal's car was parked. Hannibal heard Will gasp when he saw Abigail sitting in the back, unescorted, smiling broadly at him and waving. Confusion clouded his face as he glanced at Hannibal.

 

“I thought you might like it if she came to stay with us, too.” Hannibal spoke the words gently; if Will thought about it, he would understand that Hannibal was offering something that he felt he didn't deserve, something that he had never really craved until recently. He was terrified that Will would reject his offer.

 

He didn't. It was almost painful when Will threw his arms and crutches around him and squeezed him.

 

At dinner, the three of them sat and talked. Hannibal held Will's hand across the table. Will looked younger and happier than Hannibal had ever seen him, his eyes glowing, his smiles genuine and bright.

 

Abigail squeezed Hannibal's fingers too, and he looked at her closely. He had seen in her what he had seen in Will; a deep, dark desire, something that could be extinguished or encouraged. She had eyes that were too old for her face.

 

He cared about her.

 

Hannibal washed up after dinner, humming to himself. Will had taken Abigail up to her room. Hannibal felt content, something unfamiliar and unsettling.

 

He glanced up when he felt eyes on him, and saw Will in the doorway.

 

“How do you feel?” Hannibal asked.

 

Will hobbled forward on his crutches, his face showcasing a wide variety of emotions. His eyes were bright with tears. Hannibal automatically lowered the plate he was holding and crossed to him, concern filling him.

 

Will was starting to sob when Hannibal reached him and wrapped his arms around him.

 

“I feel happy.” Will breathed the words into Hannibal's shoulder. “I feel happy.”


	10. Part 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologise for the delay on this one! I started this chapter earlier in the week, but the document didn't save. Anyway, thanks to everyone who is reading this. There will be two more chapters in this piece, but there will be a third and final story in this series.

Will finally said the words after his bath the next morning.

 

Abigail had a meeting with Freddie Lounds, so Hannibal and Will had the place to themselves. Hannibal had dropped Abigail off, then returned to bed, where he and Will had spent two beautiful hours writhing deliciously in the sheets.

 

Afterwards, Hannibal had filled the bath for him and left him alone to relax. He had returned to retrieve Will exactly forty minutes later.

 

Will was naked and dripping, his hair soaking, his hands curled around Hannibal's suit jacket. When he said the words, he was leaning against Hannibal, his crutches forgotten in the bedroom. Hannibal was smiling tenderly down at him.

 

This was a changed man. Even though Hannibal would never admit it, Will had changed him- he was still manipulative, still cold and calculating, still a killer... but he was something more now.

 

Will reached up and stroked Hannibal's smooth jaw; the fact that he could so easily touch Hannibal like this was still an amazing novelty.

 

Hannibal's smile widened, revealing a flash of slightly pointed teeth. These were his rarest smiles. They made him look young and mischievous. They made him look carefree and- although Will would never dare admit it- adorable.

 

Will knew he could never leave this man. He would never feel as happy as he did in these moments; he felt almost painfully alive. The world was a vivid place now, not a vague blur he flailed helplessly around in.

 

This was where he belonged.

 

“I love you,” Will said.

 

Hannibal's eyes widened, and he turned his face so that his lips brushed Will's palm. Will saw his Adam's apple bob up and down.

 

Hannibal closed his eyes; his heart was racing, his rapid pulse visible in his throat.

 

This had been a mistake. Will should have known that love was not part of the agenda with Hannibal. As the moment stretched out, Will felt sick and horrified. He had made a terrible error in blurting those words out.

 

Then he noticed a tear roll down Hannibal's cheek.

 

Hannibal grabbed him gently, lifted him against his chest and walked back to the bedroom without speaking. He sat down on the edge of the bed, gripping Will, still crying silently.

 

Will couldn't imagine a stranger sight than those tears rolling down Hannibal's face. He wiped them away with shaking fingers.

 

“Please say something. I didn't mean to make you cry. I just- it just came out, I didn't-”

 

“Do not say that you did not mean those words,” Hannibal said, his voice rough.

 

Will said nothing, merely stroked Hannibal's hair.

 

Hannibal looked down at him, and he smiled shakily, reaching down to trail his fingers through Will's beard.

 

“I love you,” Hannibal said.

 

They fell together back onto the covers, limbs tangled together. Will stared at Hannibal, unable to believe that this was happening.

 

Will kissed Hannibal's tears, and Hannibal kissed his.

 

“I wish I had known you before,” Hannibal said.

 

“I wish I had known you before.”

 

“It is hard to imagine what I might have managed to mould you into if you had stumbled into my life before you were ready for me.”

 

“What makes you think I was ever ready?” Will asked, smiling.

 

Hannibal purred against his neck. “I think that you are glad I came into your life. You know you shouldn't be, but you can't help it.”

 

“What makes you think you have moulded me?”

 

“I have. Sometimes I wish I could give you back your freedom, but I think it is lost forever.”

 

Will inhaled. “Forever?”

 

A smoky chuckle. “If that is what you wish.”

 

The following moment was fragile and important. Will could feel his heart beating, hear Hannibal's short, nervous breathing.

 

He smiled. “Yes. Please.”

 

Hannibal's laugh was warm and happy. “I promise I will try not to be cruel,” he said seriously when it died away. “I cannot say I will always be successful. I will do what I can for you and Abigail.”

 

“I love you,” Will repeated.

 

Hannibal rested his face against Will's wet hair and Will felt him inhale deeply. “I love you.”

 

Will felt like he was floating when Hannibal left to go to a meeting with Jack. He lay very still in the empty bed, face pressed into the sheets.

 

It was hard to imagine how they could make this work. Hannibal was a complex person, but at the heart of it, he was a murderer. Will knew he would never fully accept that; it went against his instincts to protect and help people.

 

Will knew he wanted to help bring Hannibal into the light, and he was very sure that wasn't possible. He was setting himself up for a lifetime of pain.

 

Oh, it would be beautiful and delicious and _fun,_ because being with Hannibal was all of those things, but it was also bittersweet and heartbreaking.

 

He breathed in deeply. There was no way to go back now.

 

And there was Abigail to consider. Together, they had a chance to give her a good life, although Will suspected he would have to try to stop her following Hannibal's route in life.

 

Right now, he was content to just lie still. His heart was still racing. Hannibal loved him.

 

They would find a way.

 

He heard the door open, heard Abigail ask if anyone was home. He didn't reply; he wanted to enjoy his perfect moment a little longer.

 

He was smiling into the pillow when Abigail started to scream.


	11. Part 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So I bare my skin_  
>  and I count my sins  
> and I close my eyes  
> and I take it in  
> I'm bleeding out  
> I'm bleeding out for you 
> 
> _Bleeding Out- Imagine Dragons_

It was unseasonably sunny. Hannibal was smiling as he walked back to his car. He was excited to get back home.

 

It was a strange feeling, knowing that there was somebody waiting for him. Somebody who loved him.

 

Abigail was there, too. Hannibal knew what she was, and what she had done. She needed him.

 

The whole thing was strangely satisfying.

 

He had just climbed into his car when his phone rang. He saw his home number on the display and smiled, expecting to hear Will's voice when he answered.

 

“I have them.” The words were cold. Greg Walker.

 

Hannibal's smile died. His stomach gave a sick lurch. This was what happened when you loved people. “Excuse me?” He forced the words out in a cool, calm voice, but inside he was breaking.

 

“Your boyfriend and the girl. I know what you did to me. I know you made me hurt people.” Greg's voice was chilling: calm, yet tinged with madness.

 

“I am not sure what you are talking about.” Hannibal had started the engine and was already pulling out of the car park, his heart racing in his chest. “Please do not hurt them, Greg.”

 

Realistically, Will and Abigail should have a good chance against Walker. Will was trained with a gun and was strong and capable. Abigail had killed a man already and was smart enough to know how to outwit Walker. However, Will's ankle was a definite handicap. For the first time, Hannibal cursed himself for doing it.

 

He was driving more erratically than usual, desperate to get home, although he had no idea what his plan was. He had to keep Walker talking.

 

“I haven't hurt them yet. Not really,” Walker said in his ear, the words velvety.

 

“Can I speak to them?”

 

He heard Walker consider, then the sound of the phone being passed to someone else.

 

“Hannibal?” It was Will. Hannibal exhaled in relief. Will sounded shaky, but alive.

 

“Will, are you hurt?”

 

“No.” A pause; Hannibal heard Will swallow. “Abigail is, though.”

 

Hannibal felt the blood drain away from his face. “How badly?”

 

“It's hard to say.” Will's voice was measured, but Hannibal could imagine his face as he said the words- his teeth would be clamped, the words uttered around them. Will was concealing great anger. At any time, it would be interesting and arousing. “There's a lot of blood.”

 

“Please pass the phone back to Walker.” Hannibal sighed. “I love you.”

 

“I know,” Will said. He didn't want to say the words in front of Walker. Hannibal understood. He suspected that Will was angry with him. He could hardly blame him; he was angry at himself.

 

“So, that's where we're at,” Walker said.

 

“What do you need from me?” Hannibal was speeding, one hand gripping the wheel as he manoeuvred the roads. It was such a long drive home.

 

“I need you to return, alone. If you bring anyone or tell anyone, I will kill them both. Slowly.”

 

“I understand.”

 

Hannibal heard the click as Walker hung up.

 

Normally a situation like this would thrill him, but he felt nothing other than cold dread and fear. Abigail had lost blood; what had happened to her? Wasn't it his job to protect her?

 

Wasn't it his job to protect Will, too?

 

He was furious with himself. He had been so distracted by events with Will that he hadn't foreseen the possibility of Walker's return.

 

It was hard to imagine that mere hours ago, he had heard Will tell him that he loved him for the first time. Will's memories of this day would be forever tainted now.

 

Although any memory with Hannibal would always be tainted.

 

He was holding the wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. There was a gun and a knife in the car; he would place these beneath his coat and kill Walker quickly- a shame, really, but he didn't want to risk Will or Abigail.

 

It seemed to take a lifetime to reach his house. He forced himself to pull up carefully, conscious of the neighbours, and he walked inside calmly, although inside he was a mess.

 

They were in the kitchen. The first thing he saw was the blood; usually it didn't shock him, but it was scarlet and _Abigail's_ and it was splashed everywhere... he swallowed and took a deep breath.

 

Abigail was on the floor. Will was pressing a ruined shirt- checked, so not Hannibal's- to her stomach. She was out cold, her face young and vulnerable.

 

Walker was leaning against the counter, his eyes wild. He was pointing a gun at Will.

 

“She needs medical assistance,” Hannibal said. “Please allow me to tend to her wound.”

 

Walker frowned, hesitating. “Very well.”

 

Hannibal crossed the room and dropped to his knees beside Abigail. His eyes met Will's over her; Will's glasses were sprayed with blood, a grim reminder of the last time they had been in a similar situation. Behind them, his eyes were dark, furious and terrified.

 

Gently, Hannibal covered Will's shaking hands and tugged them away. Will had pushed Abigail's shirt up and Hannibal could see the knife wound clearly. It was shallow. She had lost blood, but if they could get her to a hospital she would live.

 

He was almost surprised by the relief he felt, and he wordlessly took Will's hands and pressed them and the shirt back on her wound. He saw some of the tension melt away from Will, who understood that keeping pressure on the wound was not a waste of time.

 

Hannibal stood up and faced Walker.

 

“She needs to go to hospital. Please allow me to call for an ambulance. You and I can depart, so we are not present when it arrives.”

 

“I'm afraid I'm not that stupid.”

 

Hannibal took a deep, steadying breath. “If your plan is to kill me, please do it quickly. She needs help as soon as possible. If you kill me, then leave, Will can get her some help.”

 

Will's shocked gasp at his words was so loud he could almost  _taste_ it. Hannibal would have been offended, but he was surprising even himself.

 

“Too easy, I'm afraid.” Walker was clearly excited. He had obviously thought about his plan carefully, and Hannibal knew from the gleam in his eyes that he wasn't going to like what came next. “I have a choice for you.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Walker lifted something from the counter and held it triumphantly. It was the journal, the one Hannibal had given Will. Will had hidden it in with the recipe books in the kitchen; he had never mentioned this to Hannibal, but Hannibal had very good reason to keep track of this book.

 

“I didn't give him that,” Will said hollowly. “He found it.”

 

“I know,” Hannibal said, keeping his eyes on Walker. He wanted to reach for his gun and shoot him- an almost painful rage was rising up within him. He was very aware of Walker's gun pointed at Will.

 

“The choice, then: either you kill Will Graham, or Will Graham takes this to your friend Jack Crawford and delivers it to him by hand.”

 

Hannibal felt the world tilt and had to steady himself on the counter. He felt a brief stab of pride that he had moulded Walker into this clever creature.

 

The choice was a lot simpler than he would have imagined.

 

“If Will takes the journal to Jack Crawford, you will allow him to take Abigail to hospital on the way.” The words sounded distant, far away- it was as if he was watching himself.

 

“Hannibal-” Will said his name, and he sounded close and horrified.

 

Walker nodded, and Hannibal turned to Will. Will was looking up at him, eyes wide and round. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. Hannibal realised for the first time that Will was wrapped in his dressing gown; it was too big for Will's narrow frame, and now it was covered in Abigail's blood.

 

“Will has a broken ankle. I need to help him get dressed and place him in the car.”

 

“Will you be able to drive?” Walker asked Will, and Will nodded wordlessly.

 

Hannibal left Walker pressing down on Abigail's stomach, his gun pressed to her temple. The threat was clear; if Will and Hannibal did anything stupid, he would kill her.

 

Will was leaning against him heavily. Hannibal could kill him now, he realised; he could simply reach down and break his lovely neck. If he returned to the kitchen with Will's body cradled in his arms, Walker would lower his gun and laugh- Hannibal could charge him and kill him so easily.

 

If only he could kill Will Graham.

 

In Hannibal's bedroom, Will pulled on a shirt and jeans without speaking to Hannibal. His face was closed. He sat on the edge of the bed, fastening the buttons with shaking fingers.

 

Hannibal fetched a damp cloth and knelt down before him, reaching up to remove the glasses from his face and wiping the blood from them, before wiping Will's face.

 

Will caught his hand and held it. His eyes burned into Hannibal's.

 

“This is not good,” he said.

 

“Do what you have to do.”

 

“Why aren't you just killing me?” Will asked.

 

“In you, I have found someone I care about even more than myself.” Hannibal almost smiled at Will's disbelieving snort. “Trust me, I find it as startling as you do.”

 

“But... if I take that journal to Jack...”

 

“Will, please, you must. A life without you is not one I wish to live.”  
  


Will's eyes filled with tears. “But you're asking me to live mine without you.”

 

Hannibal tried to think of an alternative, but he had none. He replaced Will's glasses, then kissed him. Would this be the last time their lips met? He kissed Will hungrily, and Will responded with equal intensity.

 

“I love you,” Hannibal told him.

 

“I love you.”

 

They returned to the kitchen and Walker handed Will the journal.

 

“If you do not return with the FBI within two hours, he dies,” he said blankly, gesturing to Hannibal.

 

Will nodded, leaning on his crutches. Hannibal carried Abigail to the car, sick to discover that her pulse was faint. Walker followed them, his gun aimed at Hannibal. Hannibal wondered if anyone was watching from the surrounding windows, but he couldn't see anyone.

 

Will started the car and reversed.

 

Walker followed Hannibal back into the house. He was good at this; he stayed constantly just out of Hannibal's reach, so Hannibal had no option to try to wrench the gun from him.

 

“This is what you deserve,” Walker said.

 

Hannibal forced a smile. “I deserve far worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day. I am good to you. One left to go!


	12. Part 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t get too close  
> It’s dark inside  
> It’s where my demons hide
> 
>  
> 
> Demons- Imagine Dragons

Will deposited Abigail in the car park of the hospital. He felt guilty and scared, but he couldn't risk being questioned about the state she was in. He didn't need to be followed by the police. He couldn't carry her with his ankle in the state it was.

 

It was almost dusk when he pulled up. He had about an hour left before Walker killed Hannibal.

 

He had not driven to Jack, as instructed. He had returned to Hannibal's street.

 

In the half-light, he struggled out of the car and walked on his crutches to the trunk. He opened it and was disappointed to find nothing; this was Hannibal's car, after all. He was a serial killer, for god's sake. Yet there were no weapons in his car.

 

Will almost laughed at the irony of his annoyance.

 

He was going to have to find a way to do it by hand. Something primal surged through him.

 

He crept around the back of Hannibal's house, keeping to the shadows. The light was on in the kitchen. Will could hear the low tones of Hannibal's voice through the closed kitchen window.

 

Hannibal was sat on a chair. He was down to his shirt- his jacket and coat lay on the counter beside Walker, who had his back to the window. A gun and a knife sat on the coat. Will smiled grimly; these must be the weapons from the car.

 

Walker was gesticulating wildly with his free hand. In his other hand, he still held the gun. His posture was relaxed.

 

Will had planned to sneak in, but suddenly he didn't want to.

 

He approached the house awkwardly, keeping low. Due to his ankle, he found himself crawling painfully.

 

He pressed himself to the wall beneath the window for a second before pushing himself up.

 

Through the window, he met Hannibal's eyes over Walker's shoulder. When he remembered later, he would realise that it was the burning rage on his face that made Hannibal smile suddenly, but in the moment it made no sense to him.

 

He smashed through the window, and if his hands were cut, he felt nothing. Walker jerked, and the gun went off, but before he could turn to face Will, his throat was covered by Will's hands.

 

Without thinking about his ankle, Will threw himself inside the house, taking Walker to the floor. The gun skidded away. Beneath him, Walker thrashed helplessly. He tried to roll over; as soon as his face was exposed, Will began to hit it.

 

All he could hear was the blood rushing around his ears. As he repeatedly crushed Walker's head, he was more alive than he could remember. He thought of Abigail and let out a roar.

 

There was blood everywhere. The world was red.

 

What was once a face was a damp crimson pulp.

 

Will took a deep, ragged breath as the moment passed. He swallowed, staring down the dead man. He expected to feel guilt, revulsion, disgust... but he felt calm. He turned his hands over before him, staring at the mess of them. His own blood mixed with Walker's, pouring from his split knuckles.

 

He looked at Hannibal. Hannibal was standing close, so close that some of Walker's blood had splattered his shirt. He was looking at Will with a naked hunger, his eyes more intense than Will had ever seen them.

 

Wordlessly, Will reached up to him. Hannibal pulled him up, and they were pressed against each other. Will's heart began to beat very quickly. Hannibal bent to lick his throat, kissing it. Will moaned, aware that this was wrong, but unable to resist.

 

When Hannibal raised his face, his lips and chin were covered with blood.

 

“Hannibal.” Will said the word, the first word he had said since arriving in the kitchen, in a strangled voice.

 

He was on the verge of blacking out of reality. He could feel his grasp on it weakening, as it had in the past. Hannibal's face blurred.

 

“Will, stay with me,” Hannibal said, and Will felt himself lifted into those arms he was so used to.

 

He heard his own voice, distant and echoing, as Hannibal seated him on the counter. Hannibal's face and shirt were covered in blood; Will trailed his hand across the violent stains. “Hannibal. Hannibal... oh, god...”

 

If anyone other than Hannibal had said the following words, Will would have been certain he was dreaming. “I am so proud of you.”

 

“Oh...” Will was clinging onto Hannibal's shirt, trying to steady his breathing, trying to resist the urge to glance down at the body, the _thing_ , on the floor.

 

“You chose to kill him, rather than turn me in.” Hannibal was frowning slightly. He threaded his fingers through Will's hair, which was sticky with blood.

 

“Of course,” Will breathed, without thinking.

 

“You love me.”  
  
“I said I did.” Will was frowning at Hannibal, confused.

 

Hannibal smiled gently. “You did.”

 

Will closed his eyes. “Please... sort this out. Make sure Abigail is ok.”

 

“Anything for you,” Hannibal said. He pressed a kiss to Will's forehead. “I love you.”

 

Will leaned against the cool tiles as Hannibal walked out of the room. His moment of disassociation had passed. He was horrified with himself, yet thrilled. The fact that he had pleased Hannibal was disturbingly pleasing to him.

 

He had no idea how this would play out now but he trusted Hannibal to sort things out. The thought was oddly comforting. Hannibal was a steady, solid rock.

 

He heard Hannibal's voice. He was on the phone. “I need you to get here as soon as you can... it's Greg Walker. He came back... Abigail is in the hospital.” A pause. “No, there's no danger. There is a problem though... unfortunately, but it wasn't me. It was Will.” Another pause, longer. “I know. I will make sure of it. Can you send Alana to the hospital to check on Abigail?”

 

Hannibal walked back into the kitchen. He was calm and focused. Will watched him admiringly.

 

“Jack Crawford is on his way,” Hannibal said.

 

“What should I tell him when he arrives?”

 

“The truth.”

 

“Presumably not the part about the journal which reveals that you're the most deadly serial killer he has ever hunted.”

 

Hannibal smiled. It was open-mouthed, and his pointed teeth gleamed. He looked happier than Will had ever seen him. He truly was terrifyingly brilliant. “Perhaps not. Just say that he let you go to take Abigail to the hospital. It was me he wanted.” Hannibal actually laughed. “That is basically the truth, is it not?”

 

“You terrify me,” Will said dryly.

 

Hannibal approached him, the smile still broad. “Oh, really? Why is that?”

 

“You have a very liberal approach to the truth.”

 

Hannibal brushed his cheek. “Not when it comes to you.”

 

“I'm sure.” Will leaned into his touch. “You also terrify me because you are actually enjoying this, aren't you?”

 

Hannibal leaned forward, nuzzled into Will's neck. “I could lie,” he murmured against Will's skin.

 

“Please do,” Will said, closing his eyes.

 

He felt Hannibal's tongue trail his throat again, licking at the blood, before trailing his teeth up to Will's earlobe and biting it firmly. “This is a disaster. I am so sad that you killed a man to save me. It is very unattractive to see you covered in blood in my kitchen. This is my worst nightmare.”

 

“It is my worst nightmare,” Will said honestly.

 

Hannibal pulled back and looked at him closely, hands resting on his shoulders. “This is your true nature, Will. You must accept it.”

 

“I don't need you to be my psychiatrist any more, Doctor.”

 

The smile returned. “I will make coffee.”

 

Will felt slightly stunned when Hannibal moved away.

 

He sat still, wrapping his arms around himself. He wanted to bathe, to get rid of all this blood. The faceless corpse was still on the floor, and now he had to look at it.

 

It was hideous. It was hard to believe it had ever been human.

 

Will looked at his ruined hands and wondered how he could have done this.

 

What upset him the most was how little he was upset.

 

They were drinking coffee when the FBI arrived. Jack came in first, placing his hat beneath his arm and looking tired. He was followed by Beverly, Zeller and Price.

 

Jack took a sweeping glance of the scene, of Will and Hannibal, of the ruined thing on the floor. He frowned, then gestured to Hannibal that he wanted to talk in private.

 

Hannibal patted Will's knee before leaving him with the others.

 

“You, er, you did this?” Zeller asked, swallowing visibly, looking from the corpse to Will.

 

“I did,” Will said.

 

“I thought you had a broken ankle,” Price said.

 

“I do.”

 

The men exchanged a dark glance before squatting down beside the body.

 

Many hours later, Will sat in the bath in the hotel. The water was a surreal shade of pink. Hannibal was kneeling beside the bath, a sponge in his hand, gently wiping Will's back. Abigail had regained consciousness and had called them from the hospital. She was going to be fine, and they had arranged to visit her in the morning. Everything was good. They had to wait for the FBI to finish before they could return to Hannibal's home, but the hotel was delightful.

 

It shouldn't be good, but it was.

 

“Don't be nice to me,” he said to Hannibal. “I mean, you don't have to be.”

 

Hannibal paused in his washing, cocking his head. “Am I not usually?”

 

Will said nothing, merely cocked his eyebrow. Hannibal laughed, and to Will's amazement, splashed him with the bloody bathwater.

 

Afterwards, they lay together in bed, fingers entwined. Will's head was resting on Hannibal's shoulder. He closed his eyes and breathed in his familiar scent.

 

“Did you ever imagine this would happen?” Will asked. “Actually, that's a silly question. Of course you did. This was your design, wasn't it? To make me kill.”

 

Hannibal didn't deny it. “I didn't imagine how happy I would feel. Despite your beliefs, it is not because you killed, although I won't claim that has not pleased me. It is because you chose to save me.”

 

Will smiled. Again, Hannibal's pleasure and validation made him feel proud.

 

“I love you,” Hannibal said.

 

Will thought he would never grow tired of hearing those words. No matter what happened, as long as he could hear Hannibal say that every day, he knew he would be happy.

 

That was the most terrifying thought of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done! Thank you so much to everyone who has read this, commented, been kind etc, you really have all made me so happy. There will be one more story in this series, and because I am not cruel (mostly) I will post the first chapter straight after this one. Again, thanks! Much love.


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